


the stars will go out (before I forget you)

by Livelysky



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Faeries - Freeform, Jaemin wears emma's clothes, Magical Realism, Slice of Life, inspired by Cassandra clare, jeno as Jules makes me wanna cry, jisung ty and chenle kit, shadowhunters au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:08:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25011409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livelysky/pseuds/Livelysky
Summary: The sun shone in Faerie with a hundred times as much intensity as in the mortal world, and a fallen angel misses his family.The sun shone in Los Angeles with less intensity, and a makeshift family is just trying to deal.or, tales of nct in the shadow world
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le, Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

The sun shone in Faerie with a hundred times as much intensity as in the mortal world. Lucas would be lying if he said he didn’t love it. The world was tinged with gold, every hue lighting up, like it was awakening under the sunlight’s touch.

Lucas had always felt a connection to nature. His mind drifted to his carefree childhood days of living in Los Angeles, training and playing at the beach, his feet buried firmly in soft sand as waves lapped in time to his younger siblings’ delighted laughter. Coming to Faerie had involved a storm of pain - but also a stronger bond to his roots. 

On days like this, as he rode his stallion to what felt like the edge of the world - where a roaring waterfall made a cliffside look like a sparkling diamond and the trees surrounding it were the fresh green of moss, of emeralds, of _life_ \- he found it hard to remember that he had initially hated being here. 

Of course, the boy riding next to him had significantly helped matters as well.

Hendery sat on his steed like royalty - which he was. Shunned and expelled, but a prince nevertheless. Lucas knew what it was about the prince that had attracted him at first. It wasn’t the sharp jaw or curling dark hair, although those suited him just fine. It was his eyes - one dark and one silver, both wide, seemingly hard but holding horror stories in their stormy depths- just like Lucas’ own. 

He had been the first one Lucas had noticed upon joining the hunt. Lucas had been weak then, thin and shaking like a leaf, his status at the lowest rank, his arms covered in shallow cuts that cried out for his family. 

Hendery had watched him trudge in, watched him ride silently at the back of the hunt for… days? Weeks? He’d watched Lucas make a bed in a corner of a cave, apart from the forest clearing where everyone else made camp, and ignored him and walked away to wherever it was that he spent his nights. 

One morning, Lucas had woken up to loud jeers outside the cave. He hadn’t slept much - only a couple hours of fitful rest with restless dreams full of faded memories of his family. His eyes took a minute to adjust to the bright Faerie morning, despite his Shadowhunter instincts urging his body to move towards the source of the voices. 

“Disgraced Prince,” a voice was sneering. “Pretty boy, brought up with a silver spoon. Show me you can fight,”  
Three faeries of the Hunt were standing around a crouched body, which one of them kicked as Lucas watched.  
The figure raised his head and Lucas recognised Hendery with a jolt. Blood was gushing from a cut at the corner of his mouth, and the prince spat it at the faerie’s feet with a glare. 

The faerie scowled and kicked him again as Hendery doubled over, coughing. He raised his foot for another, and Lucas rushed forward, “stop!”

The three faeries turned with surprise. When they saw Lucas, they burst into laughter. Hendery glanced up, his eyes filled with fire. 

“Well well well. If it isn’t our own Fallen angel,” the man said quietly, dangerously.  
Lucas felt fear prickle all over his skin. He shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t his home. He had spent his time in the Hunt so far blending into the shadows, staying silent and watching the stars every night with the dying embers of hope of returning home. Now he was announcing his presence, his _otherness_ , his stupid Shadowhunter recklessness. 

“Fallen angels are demons.” Lucas said quietly. “I am a Shadowhunter.”  
The faeries let out more barks of laughter.  
A second one spoke. “Shadowhunter, he says. Where be the runes on your skin, then, boy? The marks of your precious Angel? All I see are ugly scars.” 

Lucas flushed. He was right - his runes had disappeared the first night in the Hunt - as had his stele and wichlight. He had nothing to connect him anymore to the Clave, to his people. 

He raised his chin regardless, aware of how foolish he must’ve looked. Ratty faerie clothes, sleep-mussed hair, grimy face. “I am still no demon. I am a Shadowhunter, and I am Fae. I am of the hunt. Gwyn chose me himself, as he chose the prince. Leave him alone.” 

He wasn’t sure where he was getting his courage from, but for the first time since he’d been taken from home, he felt a spark in his chest. Someone to stand up for. 

The faeries looked livid, and for a moment Lucas thought he’d doomed himself as well as Hendery. And then, remarkably, they shot them both dirty looks and left. Lucas stared at Hendery, and Hendery had stared back.

What now? Was he to offer to tend to his wounds? Suddenly, Lucas felt bone-tired. The darkness the spark was beginning to light was back. He wasn’t going to find friends here. He wasn’t going to make a home here. He blinked, slowly, and turned back towards his cave. 

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Hendery get up painstakingly, cradle his arm, and walk away. 

That night, Hendery returned. He ignored Lucas’ glare and made a bed next to his, and then turned away daintily and closed his eyes. 

After that, he returned every night, even though they did not speak, and still avoided each other as they flew with the Hunt. No need to become more of a target then they already were. 

On the fourth night, Hendery spoke. He asked Lucas questions, and for some reason, Lucas answered. 

One the seventh night, Lucas asked questions, and for some reason, Hendery answered. 

On the tenth night, Hendery whispered that the scars did not make Lucas weak. Then he pulled off his shirt and let Lucas run his fingers over his scarred back in grim silence. 

On the eleventh night, they kissed for hours to the sound of night owls. They kissed and touched until he found the world of Faerie beautiful, and he found Hendery more beautiful than the entire world. 

On the twelfth morning, they woke to the sweet feeling of skin on skin, and they rode together on the Hunt, bullies be damned. The spark was back, and damn it if Lucas was letting the darkness snuff it out again. 

Now, Hendery laughed, jolting Lucas out of his memories. He was laughing at a pixie near his head as it affectionately tugged at his hair.

“Is Prince Hendery indulging an annoying little pixie? What a day,” Lucas teased. 

“Ah come, Luc. You make me out to be quite the curmudgeon,” Hendery sniffed. 

Lucas snorted at the prince, “Try ‘sourpuss.’” 

Hendery’s brows knitted together in confusion as they did whenever Lucas used overly-human words. He pushed down the ridiculous urge to lean over and kiss that little furrow. 

Hendery pulled his steed up next to the glittering pixie pond and dismounted, his beautiful grin once again on his face. He really was in a good mood, Lucas thought. Strange. 

Then Hendery pulled off his clothes and Lucas decided he could put up with this cheerful version of the Prince a while longer. He was barefoot and he balanced at the edge of the pond for a minute before diving in, and for a moment Lucas was overwhelmed with a memory of his younger sister doing the same thing at the beach. Then he shook it off and joined the Prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly just wanted to write Hendery as Keiran


	2. Chapter 2

Gold paint dripped to the ground from Jeno’s brush as he stared at the canvas in front of him. He didn’t pay it any attention - the floor had long since been speckled with various colours and liquids. Feeling a little bit like his mad uncle, Jeno added another frenzied stroke, and then another. He’d been trying for years, and the face on the canvas was never quite perfect. He let out a sigh and let the brush clatter onto the palette, and decided to call it quits for the night - morning? He wasn’t sure what time it was. His brain was still floating far above his body, lingering in the kitchen and replaying memories of Jaemin at dinner today, of Jaemin’s room-brightening twinkling laughter at his little siblings’ jokes, of Jaemin’s long skirt sweeping around his ankles as he got up to help Jeno with the cooking, of Jaemin, of Jaemin, of Jaemin. 

As if his thoughts were magic itself, as if the simple enormity of his desire was enough to plead and beckon and summon, there was a knock at the door. “Jeno?”   
Jeno jumped up lightning fast, and stashed the new painting in his secret room, the ‘photography’ room, and he had the door closed and locked in seconds. By the time he called out a steady, “come in,” he had positioned himself casually against a table, wiping his hands on a paint stained cloth, coolly regarding a half-done canvas in front of him. A less dangerous canvas - a painting of Jisung and a raccoon he had decided to befriend. 

Jaemin had changed for bed, and Jeno really wished he hadn’t. It was bad enough that Jaemin was beautiful no matter what he wore- sweaty Shadowhunter gear or flashy thrift store skirts. But this - a white sheer nightgown with thin straps that swished wherever he walked - Angel help Jeno. 

“Time for bed, Jen,” Jaemin said jokingly, the childhood nickname rolling off his tongue like honey. 

“Got caught up,” Jeno replied. 

Jaemin glanced at the painting, a fond smile spreading across his face. Jeno’s heart ached at how much Jaemin loved his family.   
“It’s beautiful, Jen, but it can wait until tomorrow.” 

“I’m not sleepy,” Jeno protested, his gaze darting from the painting to Jaemin’s bare shoulders and back to the easel again. 

“Well, come outside with me then. The fumes in this place are killing me,” Jaemin declared, turning towards the door and tugging Jeno’s arm. 

“You’re so dramatic,” Jeno said with a grin.

“Not at all. Why would you get high off of turpentine when cocktails are right there?”

“We’re underage, Jaemin.”

“You may have adopted those little cretins who are asleep right now, but you’re not my daddy,” Jaemin winked. 

Jeno let out a groan (and he didn’t even have to fake it.) When Jaemin was like this, playful and comfortable and making bad jokes, he didn’t have to sink so low into the darkness that consumed his chest. He could pretend they were kids again, he could pretend they were normal _parabatai_ , he could pretend his breathing wasn’t being cut off by thorned roses. 

They strolled out of his attic studio and onto one of the Institute’s many balconies - their favourite one with a view of the desert. Jaemin loved the beach, but Jeno knew he loved the desert too. Watching him now, grey eyes on the dunes and breathing in the sweet scent of sage, Jeno could detect the calm radiating off of him, could feel it spreading through his body from his parabatai rune. This was the balcony where Jaemin had told him two years ago that he didn’t feel like a boy, not really, and Jeno had taken his hand to transfer some of the fierce love that had spiked through his body. This was the balcony where Jaemin stood whenever he couldn’t sleep, and they would talk about constellations and the kids and the Clave - tonight though, Jeno knew he was just keeping Jeno company. 

Jaemin was the one to break the silence, his angular face outlined with moonlight. “Do you really have to go? To London?” 

Jeno sighed and regarded his blue-flecked hands. “I can’t let Uncle go alone, Jaem. I don’t trust him with Institute business, and I have to take the kids with me because I can’t leave-” 

“I know,” Jaemin interrupted gently. “It just- I’m frustrated that I can’t come too. We’re _parabatai_ , I should be with you.” 

Jeno felt a dull ache in his chest. Did Jaemin really not feel it? The sinking despair that came with the word _parabatai_? The gaping chasm that filled with yearning at the statement _‘I should be with you’_? He needed to go to London. Not just for the reasons he’d just said - Jeno was an expert at omitting truths. He needed to go to London because it was as far as he could get from Jaemin for now. Distance would help. Distance would distract him. What was that mundane saying - out of sight, out of mind? If he didn’t see Jaemin everyday, he wouldn’t have to think about him. His curved neck. His playful smile. His long legs. He wouldn’t have to feel him, the goodnight pecks that singed his cheeks, the shoulder nudges and the palm-squeezes and hugs. Jeno was parchment paper and Jaemin was a still-burning cinder. 

“You’ll be with me, Jaem. Always,” he replied quietly, not voicing any of his previous thoughts out loud. He suddenly felt profoundly tired. “Time for bed,” he added, echoing Jaemin’s earlier statement. “Goodnight,” he kissed Jaemin’s cheek quickly and walked to his room without waiting for a response, his self-loathing growing by the minute. 

Jeno curled up in bed and tried to sleep, but his lips burned all night.


	3. Chapter 3

Chenle was beginning to think he could get used to it here - there was a better view than he’d ever had, there were cool weapons, and there was Park Jisung. 

Speaking of Jisung - the lanky boy was currently creeping over a boulder like a crab, inching towards a bright blue beetle he’d set his sights on. Chenle could pretend Jisung’s fixation with animals was weird or annoying, but the truth was that he just found it plain endearing. 

No one else at the institute had much time for Chenle, the small group of shadowhunter friends too caught up in whatever was happening in the world right now (they didn’t fill in the younger kids that much.) Chenle respected Jeno, though his inability to read the secretive leader was a little scary. To the young ones, he was almost a father figure. He’d even been acting older than Lucas, who had apparently just gotten back from the Land of Faerie. He was insanely beautiful, so go figure. The only person Jeno seemed genuinely open to in an equal way was Jaemin (who was also so hot.) Chenle knew Jisung had depended on Jeno deeply throughout his childhood, but figuring out the group’s connections was a little bothersome. Watching a family dynamic unfold in front of him was… unfamiliar, to say the least. Chenle had never had a big family, much less friends his age. It wasn’t all too bad of a change, he had to admit. 

He snapped his attention back to Jisung, who was now holding the beetle in his palm. 

“Um, how are you sure that isn’t poisonous or something?” Chenle asked nervously. 

Jisung looked up, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “This isn’t one of the poisonous ones. Beetles are rarely dangerous. Besides, look at how pretty it is.” 

Chenle stared at the boy, a slight blush rising to his cheeks when he noticed Jisung’s long eyelashes brushing the tops of his high cheekbones. “Pretty things can be dangerous,” he said quietly. 

Jisung looked up, tilting his head to the side. “What are you talking about?” 

Chenle swallowed. “Nothing. You know, the blades we were practicing with yesterday.” 

Jisung nodded seriously, “The ones you wanted to steal?”

Chenle flushed a darker red. “Um, yeah.” 

Jisung nodded again and looked at him with no judgement, rising to his feet after setting the beetle back on the ground. Chenle hated that Jisung was taller than him, despite being three months younger. 

“Let’s go practice with the blades again,” he suggested, as if inferring this from their conversation. 

“Oh- now?” 

“Well, Doyoung usually teaches us but he's busy, and so are Jeno hyung and Jaemin hyung -” Jisung paused. “You do want to be a shadowhunter, don’t you?” He asked earnestly and a little hesitantly. 

Goddamnit. Chenle really didn’t want to make a fool of himself with weapons again, but something told him he’d say yes to Jisung no matter what he asked. So he nodded, ignoring the pang he felt at the other boy’s rare, small smile. 

The training room was massive, and gleaming weapons hung from the walls. Before Chenle first came to the institute, he would never have guessed that it was so… cool. Shadowhunters just seemed so aloof and pretentious and boring. The downworld was infinitely more interesting. He still thought that was true, but this certainly had its perks. 

“Here,” Jisung said, walking to the windowsill and pressing a button on a small speaker that sat there. Music wafted through the room - instrumental piano. Chenle’s dad wasn’t really one for classical music, but the piece must’ve been famous because it sounded vaguely familiar. Bach, maybe? Chenle was touched by the gesture. He knew Jisung played classical music on his headphones to focus, and now he was playing it out loud for the two of them. Chenle never asked him how he would deal with the headphones in the midst of an actual battle - instead he just nodded and stood next to Jisung, facing a target. 

Jisung held throwing knives in his hands, and Chenle couldn’t help but admire the grace with which his longer fingers released the blade, embedding it in the ring closest to the center. Jisung bit his lip in dissatisfaction and turned to Chenle, nodding at him. 

“Here,” he offered him a knife. “You try.” 

Chenle took a deep breath and fingered the blade. He raised his arm slowly and tossed. The knife bounced off of the wall and clattered to the ground. Chenle winced. 

“You’re holding it wrong,” Jisung said softly. He handed him another knife, and then reached out and slowly moved Chenle’s fingers so he was holding the knife in an easier grip. “Now swing your wrist - don’t just throw with shoulder strength. Keep your arm in your line of sight when you look at the target.” 

Chenle blushed. He averted his gaze, took another breath and tried again. This time, the blade nicked the edge of the target before clattering to the ground. Jisung looked extremely pleased. 

“You’re a good teacher,” Chenle said, smiling. 

“Oh.” Jisung’s ears turned red. “Jeno hyung tried to teach me to use knives, even though he prefers the crossbow. Jaemin hyung was better at it. I still just prefer to read.” 

“Maybe you should combine the two. Teach literature, or something,” Chenle said. 

Jisung frowned. “But then I couldn’t be a shadowhunter.” 

“Oh. Yeah. I was just kidding, Jisung. What I meant is, you’re uh-really cool. I like spending time with you.” 

Jisung smiled again at that. “Well, I enjoy it too, Chenle Zhong.” He reached up and gently brushed some of Chenle’s hair off his forehead. God, Chenle was so fucked. 

By the time they threw more knives and then went their separate ways to freshen up for dinner, Chenle was sweating profusely and his arms were throbbing. 

And yet, when he was stretched out in his borrowed bed that night, he realised that he no longer had a single reason that was strong enough to make him want to run away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doyoung is Diana and I will die on this hill.


End file.
